1
Elena
“Ilove my job.” I sighed dramatically and flopped down onto the dressing room couch next to my favorite coworker, Ophelia.
She grinned conspiratorially and reached over to help me untie my corset. She’d been a dominatrix longer than me, so she was intimately familiar with the special high that came after a good session.
I was the good kind of exhausted after six back-to-back sessions, having started my shift as a flight attendant and ended as Catwoman. I was absolutely spent, but filled with a sense of purpose.
It was an adrenaline rush to be under pressure to find the exact right way to bring someone’s fantasy to life, and I was floating on the bliss of having nailed it for a very nervous regular who shared a desire with me he’d never told another soul.
It was already 2 a.m. and I was ready to go home, crawl into my comfy bed, and sink into the bliss of oblivion for a few hours before I got to start it all over again.
My phone went off with an urgent appointment alert.
I groaned, not sure I could muster the energy to give another client the focus they deserved.
“Who’s scheduling this late?” Ophelia’s tone made it clear what she thought of their manners. Some of the most powerful people in the world cowered before that tone.
Mistress Ophelia was an attorney by day who mostly worked on endorsement deals for NBA and NFL players, and the scariest dominatrix I’d ever encountered by night. I’d once seen her force a male sub to use his tears as lube. She gave not a single fuck about what anyone thought of her and fully embraced every ounce of her feminine power.
I opened the alert to see if there was any other info, but shook my head. “It just says ‘VIP’.”
Great. Someone with an ego and extra fear of getting caught. The dungeon we worked in kept a low profile and had such focus on privacy that our standard level of servicewasVIP. We were the most elite house of fantasy in the world, priding ourselves on discretion, and the accompanying price tag meant all of our clients were VIP in one form or another. The last time I had a client flagged like this, he was an Emirati Prince.
I gave Mistress Ophelia the begging puppy face she could never resist, but she put a hand up so she didn't have to see it.
“Hell no,” she said. “I’m not taking that even if it’s the Queen of England. Anyone who’s impolite enough to schedule a last-minute appointment at 2 a.m. isn't worth dealing with.”
I sighed. “I’m not even taking new clients. Not since the stupid video of me flogging the Vice President leaked.”
Ophelia cackled. “What did he think was going to happen if he did a session outside of the dungeon? Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.”
“He swore his team could guarantee it was secure. I’ve spent my whole damn career keeping a low profile. I don’t have so much as a Facebook page. And now? I’m all over the internet.”
I’d warned him a less secure location would be risky, but he’d insisted, and now we were both paying the price. It was only a ten second clip of me trampling him and then flogging him, but it had gone massively viral.
I was being flooded with new client requests, but wasn’t willing to take anyone who hadn’t been vetted first. The media fiasco would bring out the wackos in droves.
Ophelia tossed the last of her stuff in her locker and kicked it shut. “Text V and tell her you’re not doing it.”
The owner of the dungeon, Victoria, responded to my text almost immediately.
Trust me, you want to take this.
I rolled my eyes and showed it to Ophelia. “Cryptic as usual. It’ll be more of a headache in the long run if I bail on her precious VIP.”
The alert went off to let me know my client had arrived and was waiting in the penthouse.
Ophelia paused. “Want me to wait for you?”
It was a genuine offer. She’d sit there all night if I asked her to, but there was no need since our head of security would wait and walk me to my car.
“No, it’s okay. Dean’s still here. One of us should get some sleep.”
She booped me on the nose on her way out. “Make him suffer.”
With resigned frustration, I glanced in the dressing room mirror to pull my disheveled black hair into a bun and carefully reapplied my signature red Wicked Queen lipstick.
